


Without a Wire

by wishtheworst



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Backstory, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishtheworst/pseuds/wishtheworst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven ways Nathan remembers Duke, inspired by Iron and Wine's "The Trapeze Swinger".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without a Wire

The summer heat is oppressive, wet on Nathan's skin and thick in his lungs. Days stretch on long and sticky and barely cool at night, so night itself is less of a separate thing and just a darker span of boredom and sweat. He lays awake for hours thinking about all the things the day kept at bay and twists himself and his sheets into limp knots. Maybe there really is something urgent pulling at him in the dark or maybe that's just being seventeen and unsure of almost everything. Maybe fall will come again and things will be cooler -- his bedroom and his head.

The soft click of stones on glass is so quiet that he doesn't quite accept it at first. Between the heat and his head and the hours alone with both it's easy to assume most things aren't quite real. The next round is louder, more insistent, and enough to bring him to the window to find Duke standing in his backyard at two in the morning. It would have been smart to go back to bed and not risk pissing of his father more than Nathan's general existence seems to piss him off. Instead he pulls on the jeans he'd worn earlier and a t-shirt and slips down the stairs as quietly as the old house allows.

"Hey." Duke shoves his hands in his pockets and locks his eyes on his feet like he just happens to be here and nothing could be more normal than waking Nathan up in the middle of the night. Maybe at this point that's true -- this isn't the first time this summer Nathan woke up to gravel bouncing off his bedroom window.

"Hey. What's up?"

Duke shrugs, the sort of gesture that infuriates Nathan when it's two in the morning and he's just snuck out of his house because something is obviously up. Sometimes he wants to shake Duke until he's overt about something. Just one thing, any one thing. Nathan feels so obvious and jagged-edged all the time, an open book of words he hasn't quite mastered.

They slink away from the house and deeper into the backyard that used to be a proper garden. Nathan's mother loved flowers, especially roses. Now the rose bushes are all of her work that really survives, but they're an untamed mass of thorns and wild, engorged blooms that explode and wilt in the heat. Nathan sinks into the grass between them and Duke follows him down, close enough that their knees bump. No one moves away.

Duke turns toward him and Nathan swallows hard when the silver light hits his face. He's all angles, strong, perfect ones, but the dark smear of a bruise on his jaw eclipses everything Nathan normally sees. "What happened?"

For a minute he's sure Duke will shrug again, act like this was Nathan's idea and he was just nice enough to play along. But he only says "Mom's home" as if that explains everything, as if the normal state of adolescence and a parent's touch is purple blood welling up under the skin.

Nathan almost says "I'm sorry," but the moment he opens his mouth Duke fixes him with a glare that's cold enough to freeze him solid in the August heat and he knows the last thing he wants his Nathan's pity. So instead he says "Want to go up to Canada before school starts?"

Duke's favorite subject is any adventure, however brief or tame, that will take him out of Haven for even a day. So they plot adventures far beyond their reach, things they don't have the money or the courage for until they're both laughing, doubled over in the damp grass. Nathan has learned that Duke has two kinds of laughter; one that is sharp and defensive, and one that feels like a prize Nathan didn't know he could win.

The sun comes up in streaks of pink and gold by the time Duke stands to go, holding out a hand to haul Nathan up after him. Maybe he pulls too hard or Nathan is too light after a night without sleep. Maybe it's easy to be brave in the space of twilight, when every boundary feels as thin as the one between day and night. Whatever it is, they're a breath apart and Nathan counts out the seconds until one of them turns it into a joke.

But the seconds keep going until he forgets to count.

Something has to happen, he thinks. But he never once thinks I have to do something.

And neither does Duke, because instead he looks away and breaks whatever the spell is between them, leaving with nothing more than a grin.

 

* * *

 

Nathan isn't much for parties -- he has a special gift for feeling alone in a crowd. He does love Halloween though, and he loves Duke, or at least thinks he does, so the logical conclusion is the party he will hate every minute of tonight. It might be worth it though for the undivided attention Duke is showering him with at the moment as they both sit on the edge of the tub.

"Close your eyes."

He does and seconds later Duke's fingers smooth cheap white Halloween makeup over his cheekbones, along his jaw and down the bridge of his nose. By the time Duke talked him into the party it was a little late for elaborate costumes, but he promised he could work wonders with some grease paint and old clothes. And whatever follows, however many hours of waiting for the end of the night while Duke cuts up with his friends, however many beers it takes to kill the boredom, this makes it all acceptable.

"What do you think?"

Nathan opens his eyes to ghostly twin images in the mirror, white faces with sunken pits where eyes should be and hollow cheeks. Most of the time he can't find much that's similar in them, the attraction they hold for each other a force of nature that defies any rational explanation. And then there are times when no one seems more like himself than Duke, as if no one will ever be able to make more sense of the conflicting ambitions and hopes in his head.

"I like it."

Hours later Duke is nowhere in sight, off with Geoff somewhere and Nathan finds himself forgotten. Someone has turned on <b>The Shining</b> down in the rec room and he sprawls on the couch alone in the dark. He tells himself it doesn't mean anything -- Duke has friends and he already gives Nathan most of his time. It's not so wrong that he wants a night off to be with someone else, a few hours free of the obligations that come with the weird snare that's got them bound together.

Nicole finds him moping as Jack Torrance runs amok in the Overlook Hotel's topiary and watches the end in silence sitting next to him. She tucks in a bit too close, but it's nice to be with someone after a few hours of self-inflicted loneliness.

"That's the scariest part," she says, nodding at the screen. She's dressed as a nurse with a ton of blood splashed over her costume, and the drink she passes Nathan is in a plastic cup marked MEDICAL WASTE in Sharpie. Whatever she's drinking matches the description in taste, but he swallows half of it in one painful go.

She can't possibly mean the credits, he hopes. "Which?"

Nicole sighs and nods again. "Freezing like that. Sitting out there in the hedge maze all winter and only being found in the spring when everything melts. Being forgotten."

Nathan would normally argue that the murdered twins, rotted bathtub corpse or even the phantom bartender takes that honor. But Nicole is tall and narrow, and her face is all big dark eyes shrouded in long dark hair, and the more they talk and drink the more they seem to agree with each other about everything. 

It's well after midnight when she says "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"I have no idea," he answers, but her lips cover the last syllable and there's no point in denying that it feels good to be chosen, to be sought out instead of seeking.

He wakes up with her hair in his mouth and a twisting misery in his stomach. They're both a mess of black and white makeup and sticky fake blood, but at least it's worth a laugh as they clean up in the bathroom before quietly creeping up the stairs and sneaking out the backdoor with no one any the wiser that they'd spent the night in the basement.

The world outside is coated in white -- snow isn't uncommon on Halloween, but it's rarely this picturesque. Nathan gives Nicole his coat and she kisses his cheek before they part ways at the end of Bay Street and he shivers home alone, thanking God his father is at work.

Duke is waiting on the porch when he gets home, and he doesn't look much better than Nathan feels. A dark stain of black still smudges his eyes, and Nathan can't remember what it was about a little grease paint that made him think they could pass for anything remotely similar.

"Where were you?" Duke asks, clearly puzzled.

"Out."

He takes a minute to evaluate that, "All night?"

"Yeah." Nathan is up the steps and headed inside before he can say anything else. His head is exploding and his stomach boiling and all he wants is to sink into a real bed and stay there until the chief forces him out for school on Monday. "I'll see you later."

"Nathan." Duke pushes in between him and the doorway, and it's only when the surge of hurt wells up instead of the warmth that usually does that Nathan realizes how angry he was.

"Not now, ok?"

If Duke is upset he doesn't show it, just steps aside to let him pass. Nathan doesn't pay him any more attention. Instead he trudges upstairs and loses himself in a few minutes of scalding hot water before climbing under his blankets and closing his eyes against the ache in his temples.

He's almost lost to sleep when the bed shifts and creaks under Duke's weight as he slips in beside him, curving around Nathan's spine and burying his face in the hair at the nape of his neck. The heat he radiates feels good, more soothing than the ibuprofen he swallowed or the glass of water he forced down. He's still angry, although he can't formulate words that feel fair to explain why.

Duke's mouth is hot against his ear as he whispers "I'm sorry," and it's the last thing Nathan remembers before he drifts away.

 

* * *

 

There are so many things Nathan hates about Haven, but he can never deny that it's beautiful, a fragile man-made thing carved into the space between the ocean and the wilderness. More than anything else he loves the rawness of spring here. The wind rips through the bluffs as if it could slice away a little more stone and draw the water closer to washing them all away, and the sky is either torn apart by storms or so blue it blends into the water without a single seam. Tonight is one of the stormy ones and the constant rush of wind outside the Bronco and the warmth of Duke's shoulder lull him to a place just short of the blurred edge of sleep.

Neither of them wants to talk about the telltale signs of summer encroaching on the April tempests. Things will have to change then -- either they keep doing this or admit it was nothing more or less than the transition between adolescent friendship and whatever waits for them in adulthood.

Duke is the one who lives for the moment, but it's something Nathan has always admired about him, even when it frustrates him. Now he understands it better than ever. He feels like he's always sore, rug burn on his knees, a catch in his shoulder from nights sleeping in the back of the truck up here on the bluffs, the ache in his head as he tries to think about them and not think about it all the time.

Duke shifts beside him, propping himself up on his elbow and staring down at Nathan like he's just noticed something new and disturbing in his face.

"What?"

He starts to answer and cuts himself off before a single word gets out. Duke is never at a loss for words, even when Nathan sometimes wishes that he was. They may not talk about whatever will happen when June changes everything, but Duke talks about everything else. Nathan feels like he knows the inside of Duke's brain better than he knows his own because whatever crosses his mind comes out of his mouth in short order.

Maybe this is how it ends. It's the one thing he can understand Duke struggling to say, but he's prepared himself for it a million times. Even practiced how he'll respond, the way he'll swallow his disappointment and agree that yes, this is for the best. Yes, they'll always be friends. No, he'll never forget, but he'll be just fine. Wuornos stoicism at its best.

"I could stay here forever. With you."

"Me too." Nathan can feel the grin spreading across his face, interrupted only when their mouths meet with an urgency that should have been sated hours ago.

Later he falls away into sleep slowly, Duke's arm thrown across his chest and the steady sound of his breathing a blanket against the raging wind outside. His dreams take him where they almost always do, back to his skinny seven-year-old body and months of numbness that seemed to linger long after his sense of touch returned. Most nights it's just the numbness he dreams of, the panic of it waking him as faithfully as any alarm. Sometimes he dreams of sixteen gleaming tacks and red blood spreading over a green polo shirt, or a ragged shard of ivory bone jutting through the sleeve of a parka.

Instead his subconscious recalls his arm slung over shoulders scrawny enough to rival his own and a walk to the hospital that seems to stretch on as endlessly as the snow that falls around them. "Don't cry," seven-year-old Duke tells him, pulling him along. "It's ok, we'll get there."

 

* * *

 

The lights of the midway glow against the June sky, a rush of rainbow hues against a purple halogen glow. The Founder's Day festival is just a postage stamp of an event, but it's visible from the hill Duke lives on. There's a tiny square of space outside one window, hardly enough to call a balcony and just the right size for two people. The breeze off the ocean washes over them and when Nathan licks his lips he tastes salt. Whatever they were talking about has faded into quiet, Nathan tucked between Duke's legs with his back against his chest.

"I don't think she's coming back this time," he says, breaking the silence.

Nathan never knows what to say when Duke talks about his mother. His memories of his own mom are good ones, bedtime stories and hugs that smelled like cinnamon and her garden. Duke never claims the same, but he's oddly defensive of the woman who uses him for a meal ticket and disappears for days or weeks at a time, leaving him to fend for himself. This isn't the first time he's thought she's gone for good, and Nathan knows it won't be the last.

"What are you going to do if she doesn't?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. Figure something out. I always do, right?" The bravado in his voice is thinner than he intends, but Nathan pretends he doesn't hear it. Half of being brave, he's learned from Duke, is making yourself believe it.

"You'll be ok. Either way." It sounds empty even as he says it, even though he knows no one better at pulling through unscathed than Duke.

"I know."

"I'm serious," Nathan insists.

"I will be, it's just sometimes it feels like working without a wire, you know? Sometimes it feels like there's no margin for error with anything, and it's just about how tight I can hang on until I've got solid ground under my feet. It's not something I can do forever." He laughs a little, but it's not one of the good ones. "I know that sounds nuts."

"It won't always be like this. We won't always be here, she won't always do this to you." He doesn't want to feed Duke platitudes they both know are full of nothing more than good intentions.

"Just do me a favor?" Duke's arms tighten around him and his lips brush against Nathan's temple. "I'm doing the best I can. I know that sounds like a cop out, but it's the truth. So if I screw up, try to keep that in mind."

Nathan knows there's nothing he can say to reassure him that's the case. All he can do is wait to see how they unfold, where they find themselves as the pieces fall into place around them and prove it to him.

They sit together until the carnival lights begin to go out one by one and let the darkness swallow them up.

 

* * *

 

The sky explodes in colored sparks and noise again as the smoke burns Nathan's nose. Someone is setting off fireworks closer to the water, probably the classmates he should be celebrating with right now. Graduation ended hours ago, but instead of drinking piss-warm beer at a bonfire on the beach he's throwing clothes into a duffel bag, trying to decide what someone takes when they aren't coming back.

"Nate."

There isn't much he can't live without. The acceptance letter tacked up over his desk raises some bile when he glances toward it. Books can be bought again. The only thing he knows without a doubt he can't forgo or replace is perched nervously on the edge of his bed, newly aware of the gravity of what he's asked for.

"Nathan." Duke finally rises and moves into the path between Nathan's bag and his closet. "Are you sure want to do this?"

Nathan always thought of Duke as the brave one, the one who gets in over his head and then worries about finding a way back to shore. But he looks anything but certain now, and when Nathan really looks at him he sees them both in painful clarity, two kids with less than five hundred dollars between them and the vague idea that they can make a new life just by dreaming one into existence.

"You're afraid." It's not a question and there's no malice in his words, but Duke shrinks from them anyway. He zips up his bag and shoulders it, nodding toward the door. "If you're going to change your mind, change it now.”

He shakes his head. "It's not that."

"No?"

"It's just..." He doesn't quite meet Nathan's eyes. "I never thought you'd say yes."

The sky lights up again and anger flares up with it, but Nathan knows he shouldn't be surprised. Duke's never thought he had much to offer and for all his supposed selfishness he seemed more than ready to leave before Nathan could leave him and make it easy on them both. It would be a good time to tell him how stupid he can be for someone so smart, how little he appreciates the way he's threaded himself into Nathan's heart so that any attempt at removal would tear it to pieces.

Three hours ago they stood behind the gym in their ridiculous caps and gowns, Nathan decked out in his honors sash and Duke cracking jokes about the very real possibility that his diploma would instead be a summer school schedule. Three hours ago Duke said "I'm leaving tonight" as if it was the most normal thing to say, like it was in the same league as "Can I stay at yours" or "See you this weekend."

"Oh," Nathan said stupidly, because that was all the air left in his lungs would support.

And Duke looked him in the eye, pinned him with the need plain across his face and said "Come with me."

Since then there are a lot of things Nathan thinks he should say, but he's no good at that. Instead he drops his bag and twines his fingers in Duke's hair, pulling him in and kissing him so hard and thoroughly that they're both breathless when they break apart.

Downstairs Nathan pauses for just a second, just long enough to snag the east coast map in the junk drawer and take a last look at the kitchen where his mom cut crusts off his sandwiches and arranged roses in a big milk glass vase. When the dark room lights up he thinks it's another round of fireworks, but it's his father's headlights instead.

He and the chief have fought before, fought for hours and fought with the ugliest words either of them can summon. This time Nathan swears it will be different, but when Duke's Jeep spins out of the driveway the passenger seat is empty and the map lays forgotten on the kitchen table.

 

* * *

 

Nathan hasn't seen Duke in almost five years when he catches a familiar shape out of the corner of his eye in a crowded bar as he celebrates the end of eighteen months of training with a dozen other newly minted cops. At first he assumes it must be the kind of flickering image you see after too many drinks even though he’s only had one, an empty signifier that fades away as quickly as it flashes into consciousness. It doesn't make sense here or now, with hundreds of days and an unprecedented stretch of silence between them. He pushes his glass away and slips outside to clear his head, pulling in fresh air and pushing out whatever he thinks he saw.

The man in front of him when he opens his eyes is older, somehow seems older than Nathan is now, but unquestionably Duke. Frustratingly, for all the things that have changed and passed away between them, the one that stays the same is Nathan's inability to put his insides into words. He knows he's staring, knows the look on his face is a, but all he can say is "Duke."

Duke sizes him up in a single glance, and it's clear he doesn't think much more of Nathan's class A's than he does. And there are so many things Nathan wants him to see and just get. He wants him to be Duke five years ago, his face wrecked as he leaves Haven for the last time. He wants Duke to know he can't just pick up where they left off and he still wants him to try. Part of him just wants a sign that he remembers what they were and that it's a fond memory at the very least.

But Duke shakes his head and says "Sorry, my mistake. Thought you were someone else," before he turns on his heel and disappears as if he'd never been there.

 

* * *

 

Nathan has no idea how far out to sea they are, but the actual distance seems meaningless once the coastline slips away from view and there's nothing on all sides but soft, shimmering waves. He hasn't really been out on the water in years, not since the last time the chief convinced him to join him on an ill-conceived father-son fishing trip that ended in a shouting match and zero fish.

"What's so funny?" Duke breaks the silence that's blossomed between them, glancing away from the water.

"Nothing. Just thinking about the last time I was out here with my father and how it was my fault he didn't catch anything."

He laughs at that, nodding toward the empty cooler sitting a few feet away. "And your curse continues."

Nathan has never really cared about fishing and his bait probably disappeared at least an hour ago, so he's hard-pressed to disagree. The summer sun and the beers in their hands have eased away a good chunk of the weirdness he could tell they both felt this morning when Duke steered the boat out of the harbor, and somehow the lack of conversation feels more comfortable than any conversation that could replace it.

The truth is that he doesn't want to talk about their last meeting or the years that transformed them into strangers again. If he's loathe to treat this like an investigation, it's even more obvious that Duke isn't dying to be interrogated. He's not exactly evasive about what he's been doing, but hours later Nathan has no idea why he's come home or how long he plans to stay.

Instead they talk about the places Duke's seen and the cases Nathan's closed, and it's easy enough this way, filling in the gaps and patching something of them back together. Or they don't talk at all, and it's the most comfortable quiet that Nathan has felt in ages. They won't recover the things they left behind when Nathan let Duke leave Haven alone, but those aren't the only things worth having. The logical part of him recognizes that.

Which is why he's caught completely off guard when Duke asks "Do you ever think about how things would be different? How we would be different?"

Nathan takes his time answering, rolling it around in his head long enough that he can't laugh it off with a joke. Finally he says "Yeah. Of course I do.” And then, after another beat, "But we were kids, Duke."

"I know." There's no obvious emotion in his voice and Nathan marvels at that, that he can talk about this like it happened to other people devoid of any apparent attachment. "I didn't have to leave the way I did."

"I could've stood up to him. It wasn't your fault. I never thought it was." It's the truth, and to his surprise it feels good to say it. "I'm glad you’re back though."

Whatever Duke is about to say gets lost in the horn of the Coast Guard boat pulling up alongside them. Nathan knows about as much about boats as he assumes Duke knows about police work, so he takes the opportunity to bait his hook and cast again until whatever the problem is resolves itself.

It's only when he finds himself being questioned by the Coast Guardsman about the nature of their trip, the contents of the hold and what he's doing on the boat at all that the pieces of an ugly puzzle fuse together in crystal clarity. Nathan isn't sure what he says, but whatever it is satisfies the woman's inquiries and sends her and her crew on their way.

Duke has the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that would happen."

"Really? You didn't think it would be convenient to have a cop along who could just flash his badge and get you out of hot water? What's in the hold, Duke?"

After a second he answers with "I don't know. That's the truth Nathan. I have no idea. I don't ask, I just transport it. It's better for everyone that way."

"Is that why I'm here? To bail you out in case the Coast Guard showed up?" Part of him knows it’s irrational, but there's a tiny voice in head that can't let it lie.

"Nate, come on. I told you. I had no idea."

"But you had no problem using me like a get out of jail free card," he snaps.

Duke doesn't speak for a moment, doesn't move a muscle. Eventually he says, "Is it such a big deal if it's 50/50?"

He's probably going to say something else -- Duke always has some other line, some other thing he has to explain -- but Nathan's fist connects with his jaw before he has a chance to utter so much as a syllable. After the first blow it's as if Nathan locks into auto pilot, unaware of anything but the rage he's got to let out or explode. Duke doesn't hold back on him, not even a little, and before long they're both a mess, bloody noses and blackened eyes and ---

And nothing.

No pain.

Nothing at all.

Duke wipes away the blood oozing from his lip on the back of his hand and spits a stream of sticky red onto the deck. "Son of a bitch. Are you ok?"

He has no idea what to say. It's just like he's seven years old all over again, too stunned by the loss to explain what's happening. He looks up at Duke helplessly, holding up his hands as if that makes everything clear.

"Nate?"

"I'm fine." He hauls himself up and leans against the gunwale. "Can't feel it."

Duke takes a step forward, as if he might touch him, and Nathan can't help but flinch away, disgusted by the attempt and his own inability to register any contact, even if he could stomach it.

There's nothing left to say after that.

**Author's Note:**

> So please remember me, finally  
> And all my uphill clawing  
> My dear, but if I make the Pearly Gates  
> I'll do my best to make a drawing  
> Of God and Lucifer, a boy and girl  
> An angel kissin' on a sinner  
> A monkey and a man, a marching band  
> All around the frightened trapeze swinger
> 
>  -- Iron and Wine, "The Trapeze Swinger"


End file.
